


Almost Canon - Destiel Speculation Ficlets

by yellowturtle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Human Castiel, M/M, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowturtle/pseuds/yellowturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“How come you’re sharing my dream?”</p>
<p>“What dream? What are you talking about?” His friend shook his head resignedly. “Nevermind that. Just come back in the house for now, all right? You’ll wake the neighbours. Come on, you can shout all you want inside.”</p>
<p>Oh. Cas wasn’t real. He was clearly just a part of the djinn's illusion. He should’ve known that the real Cas couldn’t possibly belong in a fluffy green bathrobe, his hair tousled with sleep, the slippers on his feet sinking in the lush grass of a neat suburban yard. In the middle of the night. In his own freaking head.' </p>
<p>A couple of short ficlets set in season nine, in which there is explicit, undeniable, in your face proof that Dean or Cas have romantic feelings for each other WITHOUT their relationship going canon. No kisses or declarations of love in the rain. Only repressed sadness. </p>
<p>Apparently I'm a masochist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dream

 

“I'm not gonna fall for it this time!” Dean screamed at the night sky. “You think you’re the first djinn I’ve met? I’m gonna bust out of my head, and then I’m gonna kill your ass so hard you’ll wish your djinn mama had never given birth to you!”

Of course, there was no response from the stars. He surveyed the quiet little neighbourhood, nerves frayed from paranoia. He kind of expected Mary to pop out of every corner, every shadowy bush. Nothing his head threw at him could fool him this time, not after everything he’d seen, but it would still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch to be confronted with the empty promises of things he couldn’t have.

“Dean.”

Dean’s head snapped around at the familiar voice. “Jesus, Cas, those dicks got you too?”

A confused squint. “What?”

“How come you’re sharing my dream?”

“What dream? What are you talking about?” His friend shook his head resignedly. “Nevermind that. Just come back in the house for now, all right? You’ll wake the neighbours. Come on, you can shout all you want inside.”

_Oh_. Cas wasn’t real. He was clearly just a part of the illusion. He should’ve known that the real Cas couldn’t possibly belong in a fluffy green bathrobe, his hair tousled with sleep, the slippers on his feet sinking in the lush grass of a neat suburban yard. In the middle of the night. In his own freaking head.

”Dean?” the dream Cas asked again, voice tinted with worry. “Are you ok? Do you… Can I do anything to help?”

Before Dean could react, Castiel’s hand tenderly cupped his cheek, the kind eyes tracing every line of his face with an openness Dean was completely unprepared to deal with.

Dean instinctively reached for the hand. But instead of swatting it away like he’d planned, he reveled in the warmth of the skin against his. “No. I… I think I’m…”

He faltered, alarm bells ringing in his head.

Gingerly, he lifted Castiel ‘s left hand to his eye level. He didn’t remember the ring. The real Castiel didn’t wear jewelry, especially not on his ring finger.

“That’s my mom’s ring,” Dean whispered, his mind momentarily going blank from the recognition.

Castiel smiled a sweet, embarrassed smile. There was an unfamiliar softness to his face under the dim glow of the streetlamp. Or perhaps this Castiel had never known the apocalypse, had never washed the blood of innocents from his hands. “Why are you acting so strange, Dean? You know I never take it off.”

Dean looked down at his own hand. There was a plain silver band on his left ring finger too.

Dean did the only thing he could think of.

He fled.


	2. Dean and Cas Are Stupid Butts

"You gotta be more careful, man." Dean told him reasonably, squinting at the needle in his fingers with concentration.

Castiel had suffered much worse throughout his long life. He'd been blown to shreds by archangels more than once, stabbed near fatally by angel blades, and even ripped apart by leviathans. This pain was nothing by comparison. It did not hurt the very core of his being, couldn't affect his lost grace or his newly-acquired soul.

However, a blunt piece of metal repeatedly piercing into the skin of his bicep wasn't exactly a pleasant experience either.

"I could take them, Dean. Vampires are hardly a match against the combat skills of angels, even a poor example of one."

Dean grinned as he tied the last stitch. "Jesus, you shoulda seen yourself. You took down three at once! It was wicked awesome." He dabbed a stinging liquid at the wound, and Castiel had to resist the urge to hiss. "There. All done."

"Thank you." Castiel rolled down the flannel sleeve. He didn't want to be visually reminded of his weaknesses.

"Hey listen," Dean said casually as he put away the medical kit, "I shouldn't've tried to keep you from the hunt. I didn't mean to insult you, or to make you feel useless. It's just that you're mortal now, you know? You gotta kill stuff manually like the rest of us, and that's a lot more dangerous than mojo-ing them away."

"It's fine. I appreciate your concern," Castiel conceded gracefully. Deep down he disliked Dean's cajoling. He hated feeling like less than he once was, halfway between an angel and a human and not quite belonging in either category. His refusal to be useless was unfortunately what had given him the bloody gash on his arm. Too much enthusiasm. Next time he'd know better.

"Sam gave me an earful," Dean admitted sheepishly. "He said I was making you feel left out. Well excuse me for giving a crap about your well-being, geez."

Castiel closed his eyes. A wave of exhaustion briefly overtook him. Sleeping made him too open and vulnerable and he disliked it very much, but at that moment he wanted nothing more than to lay his head on the lumpy motel bed underneath him.

"You alright, buddy?" Dean prodded softly. Castiel opened his eyes to find him crouched in front of his knees once more, looking up at him worriedly. But there was nothing for him to sew up with his big precise hands. There was no reason for the proximity of his face. He was simply... there. If Castiel reached for a few inches with his hand, he would feel the wide expanse of his warm skin under the pads of his fingers. The curve of his lips. The edge of his jaw.

Castiel sighed. "I think I tire more quickly these days."

Dean nodded, seemingly in understanding. "I'm not as young as I used to be either."He licked his lips as if to continue, but hesitated for a few seconds.

"Listen Cas," he finally said. "I don't think you're worthless, and you've proved today that you're capable of kicking major ass. But even if you were a complete dead weight, I would still want you here with us. Do you understand? I've seen you die  _a lot_ , and we don't know if you'll be brought back again now that you're human. So just... stay with me this time. Can you do that? Please?"

"I can try. Of course, my life and death is ultimately out of my control."

Dean passed an exasperated hand over his face, and Castiel knew he'd once again said the wrong thing. "You can't even indulge me once, huh," he huffed.

He started to stand up, but Castiel stopped him with a gentle press on his shoulder.

"Dean. I can't promise you my safety. No one can. But if it were up to me, I... I would rather stay with you." He smiled.

Castiel's hand stayed on the shoulder for a time that was fairly obviously too long, but Dean didn't seem to mind. Somehow his face was even closer than before. Castiel could now feel his body heat radiating in the space between them. He smelled like sweat, whiskey and blood, with a hint of an articial perfume that wasn't strong enough to overpower the other three. Mesmerized, Castiel realized he was close enough to count every eyelash. He'd never been this close before.

Dean licked his lips again. His eyes flickered down to Castiel's mouth, and then back to his eyes. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and their noses were almost close enough to touch. His lips parted slightly, his head tilting just a bit more, and suddenly Castiel's field of vision was entirely filled with Dean's face. All the ex-angel could see was Dean's eyes. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, thumping more painful and quick than he'd ever heard in his short human existence.

Castiel was terrified.

But then Dean quickly turned away, clearing his throat loudly and completely destroying... whatever that moment was.

"Ahem. So, uh, how's your shoulder?" he muttered without looking at him.

Castiel sprung to his feet, almost making the startled hunter fall over.

"I'm going to sleep. I'll be in my room," Castiel said mechanically.

He bolted to the door.

"Cas, wait! It's only six. And Sam isn't back with the pie yet..."

Castiel slammed the door hard. He needed to take refuge in the lonely motel room the brothers had assigned him. His shaking hands struggled with the key, but soon he was inside and utterly, blissfully alone.

He breathed deeply in an attempt to slow the furious beating of his heart. It didn't work.

He snuggled in warm blankets and willed himself to sleep. For once, he would welcome the embrace of oblivion.

He stayed awake all night thinking about Dean's breath against his cheek. Dean's eyes. Dean's lips.

His arm throbbed dully.


	3. Kevin Knows

Sam felt bad for eavesdropping, but he was still worried about Kevin. The kid had completely lost it when he'd found out that the gates of hell were still open, and Sam still wasn't one hundred percent sure that he wouldn't snap and murder everyone in the Bunker. Maybe ninety five percent sure.

So when Kevin resolutely insisted on talking to Cas alone, nobody could fault a paranoid old hunter like him for being slightly suspicious. After all, for the sake of everybody's safety, Sam needed to take the remaining five percent into account.

"Um... Castiel? Cas? Sir?" Kevin stammered behind the closed door. Sam felt a creep. Probably because he was.

"Cas. Cas is fine." Sam could almost hear Castiel's quizzical frown.

"Yeah, Sorry. It's kind of hard to predict your actions. One minute you're booping my nose, and the next you're getting all smite-happy on me..."

"I apologize. You've only known me at my worst."

"Look, it doesn't matter. I'm actually here because I saw Metatron's spell on the tablet. I didn't actually find a way to reverse it though, don't get too excited. I just... discovered some new details about the steps, and I thought you'd want to know about them."

Sam felt himself relax. They were only talking about angel related stuff. He didn't know why Kevin had been so insistent about seeing Cas alone, but he'd expected much worse, like some kind of prophet-led mutiny.

"I think I already know plenty about the steps. I don't especially want to hear more," Castiel said tiredly. Sam cringed. Lately he sounded exactly like he did during the apocalypse, just one more directionless being who'd given everything for a lost cause.

"Just hear me out. First step, you kill a nephilim, right? The, um, the offspring of the forbidden lust between angel and man?"

"That's right."

"Then you took a Cupid's bow."

"I did."

"OK, but it says here that you need the grace of... "

"Of a fallen angel?"

"No. You need the grace of an angel who is in love with a human."

_What_? Sam must have heard wrong.

"I... you read it wrong."

"Cas..."

"It's probably talking about humanity as a whole, not one single human," Castiel interrupted, voice unforgiving and hard. "Your translation is flawed."

"That's what I thought too. But no. It's definitely about loving one human. Singular. And I doubt that the word of God has typos in it."

Silence fell. Sam felt rooted to the spot, barely able to even breathe. He had absolutely no right to listen in on such a private conversation. Cas would probably never forgive him if he found out.

"I'm sure she's a lucky girl, whoever she is," Kevin finally offered, gentle and sympathetic. He sounded like a young boy in advanced placement rather than the bitter prophet he'd become. "Or maybe  _he's_... a lucky  _man_?"

Sam held his breath, every muscle of his body waiting for Castiel's reply.

For what seemed like an eternity, none came.

Kevin sighed. Sam heard footsteps, a second weight pressing on the bed springs. "Does he know?" the prophet of the Lord quietly asked the fallen angel.

"Please don't tell him, Kevin."  
Castiel... Castiel was begging. Sam had never in his life heard an angel sounding so scared, fallen or otherwise.

"I won't. I promise."

Sam's guilt finally overtook his curiosity, and he slipped away as quietly as he could.

Dean was making himself a substantial snack in the kitchen, pilling melted cheese and salsa over a mountain of nachos. He was enthusiastically wielding the pepper shaker when Sam walked in.

"Hey. You want some?" he asked, pointing at the plate with his chin. "Cas hasn't been eating much. You can't go wrong with some nachos, right? Even for stupid picky ex-angels."

Sam was reminded of his childhood sicknesses. Dean pestered him constantly to take his temperature, stick syrup down his throat, and force-feed him canned chicken soup. Once, a cashier busted him shop-lifting chicken stock and flu medication. He got out of it with his big green eyes and his sob story about his sick little little brother, a story which was no less manipulative for being true.

And John had encouraged it. You do what you have to do to take care of Sammy, son. And maybe once in a while John felt bad for chasing ghosts while his son had a fever, because he inevitably made his famous cayenne pepper stew as soon as they had access to a working stove. It was spicy enough to be almost inedible, but the brothers always chocked down every bite because dad never cooked otherwise, and they were starved enough for his affection to take whatever crumbs of it they could get.

Sam wondered if Castiel knew what food meant to the Winchester family. If he did, he probably wouldn't be so quick to turn it down. Maybe it was too human a concept for him to grasp just yet.

He put a handful of cheese and tomato sauce in his mouth. "It's really good, Dean," he said, because it was.

"Yeah, well I'm just trying to keep him from starving, the ungrateful bastard."

"He's not trying to be ungrateful," Sam blurted out. "He cares about you a lot."

"Huh?" his brother replied absently, storing the left-over cheese back in the fridge.

"I mean... Nevermind. If Cas doesn't want to eat, you could give it to Kevin. Kid's been working hard. You two could talk about... some things. You know, catch up." 

"Good idea, Sam. It wouldn't be good if our prophet starved on us either."

None the wiser, Dean left with his pile of nachos.

Sam stood alone in the kitchen, nursing his secret.

He felt like a huge dick.


	4. The Dream Part II

Dean woke up groggily, fully expecting his body to be strung up in a disgusting djinn den. Instead, his arms rested on crisp white sheets. Throwing himself into traffic apparently hadn't killed him as dead as he hoped.

And Cas, the fake Cas in his head, was dozing in a chair next to his hospital bed. He was pretty sure the real Cas didn't wear woolen sweaters, like a stay a home dad or a professor or something. Lately he'd been decked out in the Winchester hunting uniform, t-shirts and jackets and flannel, and the occasional tan trenchcoat.

Dean attempted to disentangle himself from the sheets as quietly as possible, even though his body very much felt like he'd just been run over by something big. At least his legs didn't look broken. He was almost thirty percent certain he could walk for short distances without toppling over. Maybe if he managed to jump out of an unguarded window, he'd get all of this djinn world business over with...

"Dean!"

The Cas who wore beige sweaters appeared by his side and firmly tucked him back in the bed. "You can't get up, you stupid bastard," he chided authoritatively. "You were hit by a car. Don't you remember? If you need anything I can ring the nurse."

He fussed clumsily with the bedsheets. His hands shook ever so slightly, and Dean heard fear underneath the anger in his voice.

"Why do you always do this?" Cas said much softer. His anger had given way to obvious anguish. "Why is it impossible for you to take care of yourself? I don't even know what I'd do if something really happened." He gently raked his fingers through Dean's hair.

"Sorry," Dean slurred. "I didn't see the car comin'." That was a complete and utter lie, but Cas looked so upset... Dean felt a bit guilty for worrying him, even though the guy only existed in his head.

"Things were going so good for so long. I just thought... I don't know what I thought." Cas slumped back in the chair. "Dean. What happened? Why did you run off in the middle of the night? The driver... he said you jumped right in front of his car. I'm not sure if I should believe him or not."

"Hey, hey, it's OK," Dean mumbled. His head was more scrambled than he'd expected, and his tongue felt heavy and thick. "I'm fine, aren't I? Just go home and rest. You look terrible." If he was going to make a break for it in his state, he would need to be alone. He didn't think he had the strength to incapacitate any well-meaning onlookers.

"Stop changing the subject," Cas retorted, apparently unready to leave any time soon. "It's not that I don't trust you, baby, but you MUST tell me if you're feeling suicidal again."

Castiel called him baby.  _Baby_.

No. The fake Castiel in his djinn-induced fever dream called him baby. That wasn't the same at all.

Actually, it was possibly worse.

Dean tried again. "Cas, I'm telling you, I feel totally peachy. There's nothing to worry about. You should go home and get some sleep." Panic had started to break through the fog in his head. How long did he have before his body started to shut down in the real world? How much time did he lose to that useless non-lethal car accident?

Dean's - Friend? Partner? - stood up stiffly, tiredly, like a human approaching middle age rather than a relatively youthful angel. Careful not to sit on Dean, he gingerly perched himself on the edge of the bed. He wrapped Dean's hand in his own and gave it a small kiss.

Dean felt himself blush furiously.

"You don't always have to take care of me," Cas told him quietly. There it was again, that softness under the lamp light, the feathered hair, the slippers shuffling in the fresh smell of grass. "I know this is the way you are, and I would never try to change a single inch of you. But you almost died. I almost lost you. Once in a while you need to let me take care of you too, sweetheart."

 _Sweetheart_. Jesus Christ.

Last time he'd grown too attached to his dream life, he almost didn't make it out. He could hardly even admit to himself that he wanted this. He wanted Cas...

"Tell me about us," Dean mumbled before he could stop himself.

"What?"

"Pretend I'm a stranger. Tell me our story."

Cas let out a surprised laugh, and for some unfathomable reason it felt worse to see him happy than sad. Maybe because Dean was accustomed to sad. "Huh. The doctors told me you didn't have any brain damage, but I think you fell on the sappy part of your head," he teased.

Even through the fuzzy fog in his head, Dean could tell this was a terrible, potentially dangerous idea. He didn't need to learn about his wonderful fantasy life. It would be much harder to go if he knew.

"Just do it," he heard himself say. "Please. Cas, just..."

Castiel instantly sobered up at Dean's serious tone. "Yeah. Yeah, all right. If it's what you want."

He shifted into a more comfortable position on Dean's bed as he gathered his thoughts. "Well, um, we met on a bridge in 2008. I was still a cop, and you were barely back from a tour in Afghanistan. Christ, you were an absolute  _wreck_  back then. I know you think you still are in some ways, but you gotta admit that you've come amazingly far since that particular day. Anyway, I was driving to work, and you... you were going to jump off." The old memory still managed to make Castiel look uncomfortable. "There was a crowd gathered around. They were shouting things at you. You're young, you're confused, you still have your whole life in front of you, all that jazz. I'm not sure if you were listening to any of them. In the end, I was the one who ended up talking you away from the edge."

Dean had already forgotten that he was supposed to know all about the bridge. He would later blame it on whatever drugs the doctors pumped into his veins. "What did you say?" he asked anxiously.

Cas smiled again, averting Dean's gaze as though he felt embarrassed. He played absently with Mary's ring, rotating it slowly around his finger. "I told you... that you deserved to be saved. Because you did."

Dean nodded. It was oddly fitting. Of course Castiel would find a way to bring him back to life, even if he'd never been an angel.

He wanted nothing more in that instant than to tilt up Castiel's chin and stare into his guileless face. He wished he could be effortlessly affectionate like he was. He wished he could be careless with his pet names and eyes and hands without feeling like his entire world would end.

"And then I held you while you let yourself cry. It was pretty awkward for the crowd." Cas finished almost casually, with a distance that could only come with time and many repetitions.

"You raised me from perdition," Dean murmured mostly to himself.

"That's a weird way to put it, but yes. I guess you could say that."

"And then?"

"Then I asked you out," he said primly, the slightest hint of a smirk playing on the corner of his lips.

"Oh my God, Cas," Dean snickered disbelievingly. "On top of the damned bridge? What the hell's wrong with you?" Apparently this Cas wasn't very good at reading the mood of the room either.

Cas looked annoyed, but in a good-natured way. "I bought you one coffee! That's all! My intentions were perfectly honourable. You're the bastard who retroactively turned it into a date."

It was much too easy for Dean to imagine himself telling this story to aquaintances over the years, making sure to poke fun at Castiel's inability to keep it in his pants after a suicide attempt, and Cas throwing him silent eye-rolls from the side. Because Cas would know that he needed this, needed a little splash of humour to dampen the pity on everyone's faces.

Cas sighed. "Anyway, that's how we met. I fell for you embarassingly early on. And then it took us both some time, since you're a stubborn idiot, but here we are."

There they were. Dean Winchester had a suburban house, a trimmed lawn, and a Castiel who was clearly still out of his league.

"Why did you decide to waste your time on a screw up like me?" Dean wondered out loud, mostly out of curiosity rather than his usual self-deprecation.

Cas smacked him on the head.

"Ow! Hey!"

"Nobody is allowed to call my husband a screw up," Castiel threatened. He wore a familiar expression that Dean could only describe as 'smite-y'. "This includes you."

Husband. Cas. Holy crap. _HUSBAND_. That was way way worse than baby or sweetheart.

"Look at me, Dean. You are brave, and wonderful, and really ridiculously gorgeous, and despite our issues I have never been happier in my life, so stop acting like you're undeserving of me or I swear to God..."

"All right, all right." Dean tiredly conceded. "You win. So what happened after the bridge? How about you tell me the rest of it, huh?"

"It would take a really long time, Dean. You should probably rest. You look a bit loopy."

"Sleep is for suckers."

So Castiel told him everything. About Castiel's family disowning him, about Dean's determined belief that their feelings were platonic "even after you kissed me!", about Castiel's determined belief that they very much weren't platonic, about Sam and Mary's unwavering support, about Cas' decision to quit the force because of a handful of asshole colleagues, about Dean's still ongoing battle with PTSD, about the feverish months of meeting in seedy hotels as if Cas was a dirty secret, about the ultimatums and the painful separations, about Dean's relationship with Lisa, about slowly finding their way back to each other, about how proud Castiel was of Dean's current enrollment in an EMT program, about their private little ceremony, about Dean's insistence that Sam was the maid of honour, not the best man...

"'Damn right, I'm the bride,' is what you kept saying. 'Everyone has to listen to the bride on his wedding, it's the law. So if I say you're the maid of honour, Samantha, then you better accept your fate.' You almost made him wear a dress. I don't think shops even sell dresses his size..."

He fell asleep to the sound of Castiel's soothing voice, the way it savoured the good memories without glossing over the bad, the warm hands tightly clasping Dean's fingers as if they somehow suspected his imminent farewell, the bittersweet images scorching into his mind like flames against blackened wood.


	5. Sam Knows

The drive was completely silent. Even the radio was off. The only noises they heard were the rattle of the toy soldiers and the smooth rumble of the road underneath the tires.

"For Christ's sake," Sam finally snapped. "We need to talk about Cas. You know we do, so we might as well get it over with now." All week, Sam had tried to breach the subject, and the immovable wall that Dean built around himself was finally getting on Sam's last nerve.

"I don't wanna talk," Dean mumbled.

"Well too friggin' bad! Because I can't take anymore of the way you two assholes are..."

Sam sighed, reining in his frustration. Now that they were finally talking, it would probably be best not to rush into such a delicate subject. Anger would get him nowhere fast.

"You're very... quick to forgive him. Have you noticed that?" Sam eased in. "Every single time, even after everything he did..."

"He was just trying to help. His intentions were never bad, Sam. Not once."

Obviously that was true. Sam knew exactly how it felt to pave the road to hell. But there was no doubt in Sam's mind that if Benny had started killing innocents again, let alone destroyed a big chunk of the world the way Cas did, Dean would've been the first in line to cut the vampire's head off.

"So you don't think Cas is special to you? Like when you moped for months after he walked into the reservoir? Or when you spent a year in purgatory just because you didn't want to leave without him? Or when you scratched out the angel wards on Garth's boat without telling us, just on the one in a million chance that Cas might choose that particular spot to reappear? Seriously, it was way too reckless. You put us all in danger. And..."

"I was there. I know what I did." Dean interrupted sharply.

Sam waited for Dean to continue, but he didn't.

"Whatever is going on between you and Cas, I hope you know I'll always be here for you both," Sam added awkwardly.

"Jesus Sam, you sound like..."

"I know what I sound like."

Dean clammed up so hard Sam could almost hear the clink of his jaw snapping shut.

"I know this hard for you to talk about," Sam acknowledged grudgingly. "But you can't keep sulking forever. Not only are you alienating Cas, but you're bringing down everybody around you. Even Kevin is getting sick of it."

His brother said nothing.

"Dean?" Sam nudged him.

Still nothing.

"Come on, stop ignoring me."

Still silent, Dean stared out of the window in Sam's opposite direction, because he was a stupid repressed dickhead.

"I think Castiel might be in love with you," Sam said flatly. So much for easing into it. It was quite a relief to finally get it out into the open. There would be no going back now.

Dean wordlessly punched the radio on. Upbeat dance music flooded the car, the volume so loud it hurt.

"Jesus Christ, man!" Sam protested. He quickly silenced Rihanna's monstrously amplified voice. "You're so freaking childish sometimes."

Dean still said nothing.

It occurred to Sam how strange it was that Dean wasn't trying to deflect with a stupid comment. There was no 'shut up, bitch', or 'there's nothing between me and Cas', or 'gosh, you know I don't swing that way'. Maybe this thing was too big to deny even for him.

"All right. It's fine, Dean. You don't have to talk to me if you aren't ready," Sam finally conceded.

His brother stayed quiet, but he finally deigned to look at Sam in the face. Sam could've sworn he saw gratitude.

Sam smiled at him and slid an old tape into the cassette player.


	6. The Dream Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is set in a different episode than the other two.

"So what's this big earth-shattering secret, Dean? I hope it's not a letdown." Charlie wanted to crack a joke about the name of the Doctor, but she didn't think Dean was in the mood to appreciate it. The poor guy looked even more beat than usual.

Dean made a big show out of surveying the parking lot, which at four thirty in the morning was about as empty as humanly possible.

"Charlie, d'you remember... you remember the djinns?" Dean addressed the question to her shins rather than her face. He poked at a blossoming dandelion with his booted toe. "Nasty bastards, dream worlds..."

"Of course. How could I forget?"

After a long stretch of silence, Dean shook his head. "Nevermind. I shouldn't bother you with this. Pretend I said nothing."

Charlie punched him reassuringly on the arm. "Hey, come on. I'm not Sam. You don't have to see me every day. You can totally dump all your crap on me and then avoid me for months," she said brightly. She suspected this was the reason why he came to her in the first place. "Now tell me all about your deadly monster problem, girlfriend."

"I... well... I got caught into one of those dream traps recently. Not even one of your special blue ones, just a regular one. It would've been so stupid to die from a rookie mistake after tackling all those bigger fish.I can't say I'm proud of myself."

Was that it? Dean was ashamed about being caught? Nah. Judging by his unbearable brooding,there was probably a whole mountain of issues buried underneath his words.

Saying goodbye to her mother had been the most difficult decision in her life, but looking back on it she felt liberated, like Frodo finally getting rid of the ring. Even if she never healed completely, the worst of the burden was gone. "Maybe this is a good thing, Dean. You're airing your inner demons."

Dean paced in tight circles, fiddling almost unconsciously with a ring.

"It's not the same, Charlie," he told her impatiently. "You saw a fear you needed to let go. But regular djinns, they go into your head, pluck out a wish, and build you an entire world around it. Being offered something you can never have... It's pretty different. It's hard to find things that still shake me after hell and purgatory, but this... I can't seem to get over. I don't know why."

Oh, so it was a repeat of What Is and What Should Never Be by Carver Edlund. Despite the purple prose, the book made her cry like a baby. Suddenly Dean's sad mood didn't seem so strange anymore. After all, Charlie could easily relate to losing parents, and she didn't know what she'd do if she was suddenly given her family back.

Pfff. Who was she kidding. If Charlie were in Dean's shoes, she would've accepted death with open arms. Fantasy was usually better than the real world.

"It's ok, Dean. You can tell me. I'm in no position to judge."

Dean took a deep breath, bracing his back against the Impala as if it gave him strength.

"Cas and I were married."

He stared at her like a frightened puppy waiting for a kick.

...

Alright, so she did _not_ see that plot twist coming.

Seriously? He was coming out to her? Charlie almost burst out laughing. After all the dark angstiness, Dean's super-mega secret was nothing more than his adorable little crush on Castiel? Considering how many Supernatural readers shipped those two, their blasphemous gay love wasn't even a secret.

One look at the absolute despair on Dean's face told her that the situation wasn't funny at all.

"Dean, is this really so bad?" she asked carefully. "So you wished for a relationship with Cas. It's not the end of the world."

"No, no, you don't understand. I... my... it's not what I wished for. My actual wish was... I wished Castiel wasn't broken."

Oh. Wow.

Charlie didn't have anything to say to that.

What could anybody say to _that_?

"It meant angels didn't exist," Dean went on. "No heaven, no Lucifer, no demons. Above us only sky. It meant Cas was born human. Instead of meeting in hell, we met on a bridge by coincidence. I don't even know which bridge it was, I didn't have time to ask. And Cas... he wasn't the sad fallen mess he is right now. He was so healthy and happy, and he... He..."

"He was in love with you," Charlie finished for him. "If Castiel was human, you two would've wound up together a long time ago."

"That's what the djinn wanted me to believe," he admitted bitterly.

"That's what your own head wanted to believe, man."

Under any other circumstance, Charlie would've squeed, hugged her poor confused friend, and celebrated with fruity drinks. She should've predicted that nothing could ever be so simple with Dean Winchester.

She usually tried not to ship real people, but nudging those two idiots together seemed like a mercy on her part. Who would've guessed that two of the most deadly people in the country could act so very much like clueless teenagers?

She patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, you don't have to be scared. Haven't you noticed the way he stares at you? You're like his sun and stars. In my professional opinion, you should totally go for that dreamy piece of angel booty before someone else snatches him up."

Not the best pep talk in the world, but she expected it to be met with annoyance at worst. The unrestrained sorrow on Dean's face completely threw her off.

"I killed myself in front of him," he said in a small, strangled voice.

What?

 _What_?

"Um, are we still talking about the same thing?" she asked, panicking just a little. One minute Dean acted like a middle-schooler in love for the first time, and the next he reminded her that his life was basically an endless loop of unbearable emotional torture.

"I was a veteran with PTSD. Cas helped me deal with it," Dean explained softly. "He stuck by through therapy, mood swings, rejections, and two suicide attempts, Jesus knows why. It wasn't perfect, but we... we seemed really good together." Dean kept his head bowed, the words trickling out from his mouth like a crooked torrent. "We... God, we were only a month away from our three year anniversary. I'd gone back to school to be a paramedic. Cas looked so proud of me, you'd think I was running for president of the universe. I guess the big difference is that we weren't a hunter or a fallen hammer of heaven. We weren't saving the world. We were just these two guys who... had a nice life together. But to get back to the real world, I needed to die in the dream. And I keep telling myself, I keep reminding myself that he's not even goddamn real! The son-of-a-bitch only existed because a djinn dug around in my brain. But I can't stop seeing his eyes at the end, when I..." He grew quiet, unable to continue.

Oh poor, poor Dean. Charlie couldn't even imagine.

He pressed his ringed fist against his shaking lips in a pointless attempt to bite back the tears.

Charlie'd read the books. She knew what the Winchester brothers lost over the years. But somehow Dean stayed unbreakable in her mind, strong and solid like a rock against the tide of supernatural creatures that threatened the world. Sure, he was snarky and almost permanently a little bit of a dick, but he was a proper hero. Cocky, larger than life, and impossibly brave. She idolized him despite herself.

He was the righteous man, the vessel of the archangel Michael, and the destroyer of the leviathans. Yet he was also just some guy, bawling his eyes out in a parking lot under the pinkish light of dawn because he was in love with the mortal remnants of a former angel.

She wrapped the big crying hunter in her arms.

"It's fine. It's gonna be all right," she reassured him.

"I can barely look at the real Cas anymore," Dean confessed against her hair, his voice muffled and watery. "I keep remembering that I killed his husband right in front of his eyes. I just want him to be OK for once, it's all I wanted, and every time I'm the one who destroys his life in the end. I ruin him, no matter who he is or what world he's in..."

"That's not true. It's not your fault."

"The only place he could be happy was in a djinn dream in my head, and I took it away. I still broke him." Dean rambled, years of bottled up regrets fighting their way to the top amid his laboured breathing. He gripped Charlie like a life saver in a stormy sea. Her hair grew increasingly wet from his tears."For years and years he had faith in a screwed up man who never deserved him, and I couldn't let him keep even that. I... I always have to sacrifice his peace of mind for something more important, I always have all those excuses for dragging him into the dirt, and yet he keeps trusting me. Why doesn't he just leave once and for all, Charlie? He should save himself. I've seen where this thing goes, and it only ends with us smashing each other into pieces. Why doesn't he realize..."

So Dean knew. He understood what the wistful look in Castiel's eyes meant, and he must've understood for much longer than her.

And suddenly Charlie felt irrationally angry. It was so silly and wasteful. How could their beautiful love story end with a repressed wimper?

"Dean!" she yelled. She rudely gripped his shoulders and shook his broad frame. "You love him! He loves you! Stop being a pussy! Do you know how many people get epic love stories like this in real life?" Dean seemed too surprised to react appropriately, for example by smacking her in the face, so she kept going. "Cas is incredibly lucky to have someone who cares about him this much, and I'm really jealous of him, and you should go grab his face and kiss him on the mouth. You can have that dream life with him right now! So tell him how you feel, and, and go take it. Take it, Dean! Carpe diem. Live long and prosper. I will go down with this freaking ship, d'you hear?"

Ah, there it was. There was the annoyance.

"Forget I said anything, Charlie," he mumbled despairingly as he turned his back on her.

"Hey, come on Dean... You can turn this into a good thing. If Cas can't keep you in the dream, then the least you can do is give the real one a chance. Maybe you two won't crash and burn. Maybe you'll be very happy! So give me a smile. No? No smile?"

She was trying waaay too hard. She could hear own desperation. Dean looked terribly unimpressed.

She tried to bring it back in. "Dean. In all seriousness, you should tell him. I know you have your own opinion on the... viability of your relationship, but he should have a say in your decision. What if he doesn't mind if you're both messed up? I bet he thinks you're worth the risk, even if you don't."

He shook his head wearily, obviously ready to drop the subject. "Don't ask me to do that. I can't."

Charlie was not going to let her ship sink so easily. "He's human now. Free will is pretty much the only perk of becoming a meat bag. I know you don't think you're good enough, but he deserves to make up his own mind. And hey, he might even surprise you."

"It's not about rejection. I'm no good for him, Charlie. I break everything I touch..."

If it was possible to slap someone into developping self-esteem, she would've done it. "Are we talking about the same person? You're Dean fracking Winchester! You saved my life lots of times! Someday you'll have to stop forgetting how extraordinary you are. You're a hero and a great guy, and you should be happy. You've got it coming."

Dean stared down at his ring like he was seeing it for the first time. 

"You deserve to be saved," he whispered under his breath.

"Damn right, you do," she agreed blindly, though she was unsure of the context.

Dean smiled a tiny smile, like a ray of sunshine shyly breaching through a rain cloud. "Thanks, kiddo."

"There you go. That's the smile. How can Castiel say no to such a cute smile?"

The smile turned into a full on chuckle. After Dean's unexpected breakdown, it was pretty much the best thing Charlie ever saw.

Cas really was a lucky man.

"Let's go get some breakfast," Dean sniffed as he unlocked his car.

"Sounds good. And you will tell him, right?"

He paused awkwardly, once again unable to look her in the eye. "I don't know," he muttered before climbing behind the wheel, effectively ending the conversation.

But it wasn't a no. Charlie would take it.


	7. The Interrogation

 

The angel was scared.

He was trapped in the huge circle of burning oil like a caged animal, and Sam wondered just when the tides had turned. When did he and his brother become something that could strike fear in the hearts of  _angels_? 

"Castiel," said Dean, and the word alone sounded like a threat. "What happened to him? Spill." He calmly twirled a silver blade between his fingers. The ring of holy oil made it glint like fire in his palm.

The angel eyed the sword. “Where did you get that?” he asked.

Sam shrugged. “A lotta angels died this year.”

"No, listen. I know who you are, and what you’ve done. I do not harbour any ill will towards Castiel. I fought on his side during the civil war. For humanity. For free will." There was no bitterness in the angel’s voice, the way Gabriel’s every action were tinted. Nor was there the contempt of Uriel, or the despair of Hester. He sounded like Dean when he talked about Mary. Wistful and sad, and yearning for a half-remembered dream that he could barely believe had once existed at all.

"You really don’t resent him?" Dean butted in sourly, mistrustful as always. Except when it came to Cas, of course. Dean always made an exception for Cas. "You’re not even a little bit pissed at him for going crazy with leviathan souls? Because your siblings, they told us a different story." 

"There are many who blame Castiel for locking us out of our home," the angel admitted. "They say he is the source of all of the evil that has stricken heaven. They say his rebirths are a punishment and a curse. They say he is lower than Lucifer himself."

"And what do  _you_  say?” Sam asked softly. He was genuinely curious about the answer.

The angel glared straight at Dean. Dean unflinchingly held the piercing gaze.

"I say… Pity Castiel, our ruined brother, for he is in love with Dean Winchester. None in heaven and hell or in between deserve such a fate."

Sam felt like someone had taken a hammer to his chest.

But Dean’s face was hard, and although Sam could tell that he was shaken, the angel most likely couldn’t see past the unforgiving facade. “What’s your name, angel?”

"Hadraniel. I had never set foot on earth before the exile."

"Hadraniel," Dean breathed. He ran a thumb along the edge of the sword. "I think you’re a filthy goddamn liar. I think you’re spewing bull to throw me off, like Naomi before you. And if you don’t tell me where Castiel is  _right now_ , I’m going to kill you.”

The angel had been right to be scared, Sam thought.


	8. The Dream - Epilogue

"Dean? Dean?"

"Hey. Shhh. Don’t move. It’s ok. You’re ok." Dean’s fingertips carded through the dark, slightly damp head of hair in his lap. There were still spots of dried blood in the soft strands.

"What happened?" Castiel grunted through the pastiness in his mouth.

"We’re going home. Sam’s driving us back to the bunker right now. You… They tortured you."

"Oh." Understanding dawned on Castiel’s battered face. His breathing calmed. "My head is pounding. I feel…" 

Dean’s eyes were red and he generally looked like warmed over shit, but he tried to put as much affection as he could in his smile. “Just go back to sleep. You’ll be fine. Just sleep.”

"It hurts everywhere," Castiel explained. He groggily tried to disentangle his arms from the green jacket Dean had wrapped around his shoulders. He gave up almost immediately.

"Oh, I know, buddy,  _I know_. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t thrown you out on your ass.”

Castiel glared dopey daggers at Dean. “Stop apologizing. Your voice hurts my head.”

Dean’s smile slipped off.

All he saw was Lisa dying slowly. The hatred in Ben’s eyes. And Cas, who lay in the backseat of the Impala in his bruises and his hasty bandages knitting together broken skin and the flakes of blood in his hair, the very same Cas from so long ago had come to him with apologies that were hurled back in his face. Before purgatory, before the shower of angels, before the scrubs and the bees, before the dust and blood mingling on his tongue beneath the empty eyes of cold blue steel, before Daphne and Meg and April, before the endless nights of masquerading his begging as prayers.

If he could wipe himself from Castiel’s life so easily, he would do it in a heartbeat. 

Cas finally seemed to take pity on him. “Dean, stop. There’s no need to feel guilty.”

"Thanks, man," Dean mumbled mechanically.

"Sometimes there  _are_  unfortunate occurrences in this world that aren’t your fault. I’m not sure if you’ve realized this.”

And Cas was… Cas was  _smiling_. 

Dean snorted. “Go back to sleep, asshat.” 

Castiel mumbled something unintelligible and vaguely fond before he closed his eyes.

Sam’s black profile remained completely silent behind the wheel. He wasn’t talking to Dean right now, and he would be justified if he never said a word to him again. But Cas… they were ok. Just like that, they were alright. Dean had betrayed them all and yet there would be no retaliation, no cage of holy fire, only a tired grin in the darkness of some Midwestern road.

Cas… he kept putting his faith in people who didn’t deserve it. He was the angel Castiel, glorious and holy, who thought his Father would never fail him, who tried to bring free will to his brothers and sisters, who knew the abomination with the demon blood would be capable of saving the world when Dean himself doubted. Cas sold himself to the devil to save a handful of billions of lowly mud monkeys. He always put Dean’s safety above all else, even above their friendship. And when Dean abandoned Cas into the gaping maw of mankind to keep Sam alive against his will, he forgave it all . He’d lived for longer than humanity itself and seen his entire species turn against his very existence, yet he trusted. And yet he believed.

Dean could relate, really. He had a knack for loving too strong and too crooked. There once was a fearsome God who’d inexorably sliced His crimson trail through creation, and Dean had loved Him in the grudging core of his heart. And now in His place there remained only a sleeping man with a broken body and a beautiful stubborn soul, and Dean was in love with him still.

Angels didn’t sleep - m _aybe angels don’t need to breathe_ \- and Dean didn’t know if he could get used to the idea of Cas conking out. He hated seeing him vulnerable to the legion out there that wanted him dead.

Oh Christ, his mom had been so wrong about everything. She didn’t know that there would never be happiness for her sons, she didn’t know that her little boy would break everything he touched, and she certainly didn’t know that Dean was the one who needed to watch over the angel. “Be careful, Dean,” she should’ve said. “Angels will watch over you, but doing so might rip them to shreds. Take care of them, Dean. Don’t abandon them when they need you.”

"Still awake, Cas?" He allowed his thumb to brush against a cheekbone. Just to make sure, he told himself. Castiel’s chest moved up and down silently. He felt himself curl around the helpless form in his lap as if he could build a barrier against all the evils of the world with his own flesh and bones.

"I love you," Dean whispered into lacerated skin. He was weak. He needed to taste the weight of those words at least once. 

He immediately hated the bitter finality of it.

Castiel didn’t wake, and Dean watched over him as the pinkish light of dawn blossomed across the interstate. 


End file.
